


don't judge yourself for trying to live

by Chron_icles



Series: life lessons of an agnostic [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, just other soldiers who get involved with Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chron_icles/pseuds/Chron_icles
Summary: Ed doesn't have much, these days. Not his family, not his own name and certainly not his honor. That's alright; there's only so much he can carry when he drags himself through the mud.He can deal with it. As long as he stays alive. As long as he can protect them.(Ed's not chasing legends, but he still goes to each corner of Amestris, doing a job his people would've condemned him for.)
Series: life lessons of an agnostic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2107302
Kudos: 20





	don't judge yourself for trying to live

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go! I'm still trying to figure out the details, but Ed wouldn't know Mustang('s team) until the beginning of canon story. Which is, like, 1914? Yeah. So here's a bit of what Ed was doing _before_ he got assigned under Mr Matchstick. 
> 
> (For those who are new here: Basically, Ed is an Ishvalan. Al is dead. Ed is still Fullmetal and he joined the military, but didn't get assigned under Mustang until later. For now, he's on his own)
> 
> Enjoy!

Alchemy sickens him to his core and yet, it comes as easy as breathing. He can feel the power pulsing through his veins, when he pictures an array and claps his hands—like a wave of adrenaline coursing through his entire system right before he bends the world to his will. Edward knows a tool when he sees one, and that's exactly how he looks at alchemy—tools, weapons, _just means to an end._

He embroidered runes and circles on the inside of his gloves, carved others onto his metal arm, even painted some on the walls of his suitcase. He taught himself to draw with both hands and kept a chalk in his pocket at all times. As if he still needed the array. But he lied, anyways, and pretends that he does. 'For convenience,' because it's always better to be underestimated. Better to blend in so it's easier to slip away unnoticed.

_"Major General Tylerson requested an alchemist to be sent to the southwest camp." Captain Braun holds the door open for him; Ed briefly thanked her, before heading straight to his desk. "We're sending a messenger back there tonight. Your answer, sir?"_

_"Who do we have available?"_

_"There's no State Alchemist stationed in West at the moment," Braun points out. She holds her clipboard against her chest, while her right arm stays behind her back. Always so professional, just the way Ed likes it. "But requests to Central should take two days at most. Who would you like to ask for, sir?"_

_Ed uncaps his pen. Who should he write to now, and what? A concise 'fuck you' to Tylerson is very tempting, but there are lives at stakes here—Ed may be a murderer, but he's gonna spare as many as he could. Even wilting soldiers in midst of gunfire._

_"I can't believe I'm doing this," he mutters at last. He addresses his note to Bradley, inwardly cursing the Führer as he writes each word, and seals the letter in an envelope, neat and ready to be delivered. "Fine. I'll go."_

He can still hear the sneers of his neighbors back in the desert, even when he knows they've been dead for years. They despised his mother and his family; Hohenheim was an alchemist and it _shows_ —he never learned to be subtle. He never has to. Ed hated the man for it.

But, well, alchemy is a tool and it might as well be the only thing Edward has, now. His money came from the blood of his people and his status only gains him respect in the den of monsters. Alchemy may have destroyed his home and killed his brother a second time, but alchemy has saved his own life, too, and perhaps he's selfish for thinking that, but Ed thinks he deserves to be selfish. It's only fitting, for someone like him.

_A pause, before Braun chokes out, "Sir?"_

_"I said, I'll go," he repeats. "What time are we heading out?"_

_"Colonel, with all due respect—"_

_"If the Major General wants an alchemist, I'll give him one. I still have my certification. Or do you really want to wait for Central?" Ed grabs his gloves from the drawer and pulls them over his hands. "Our men are stuck in the front lines, Captain. The Major General will only push them forward until they're dead. I would like to at least boost their chance of survival."_

_Her_ e _xpression is unreadable, when she takes a moment to stare at the arrays on his gloves. He expected as much; everyone in West Command only knows him as Colonel Eilerts. Not a State Alchemist. But she doesn't voice her disapproval, and Ed briefly wonders if she would be the one promoted to take his place. There's only a few months left, after all._

_In the end, Captain Braun nods. "Very well, sir. I will arrange for your departure tonight."_

_Stay alive,_ he promised his mother. _Keep living,_ he promised his brother. So he will. Dead people can do nothing, but _as long as he still bleeds—_

Stay alive. Protect Winry and Granny. Find a way to kill Bradley.

Alchemy sickens him but if that's what it takes to survive—

It's enough.

* * *

_"Colonel, you are unbelievable." A moment of silence, before a quiet, reluctant, "Sir."_

_"You've only been here for six months; our battles were never yours, Colonel. You said it yourself—it won't end until we're all dead. Yet you still rushed to the front lines to save your men, did you not? You disregard who you are until we needed you, then you didn't hesitate to risk your life for ours."_

_Across her, the stone is cold. Unyielding. Very much like the officer as she remembers him._

_"Colonel, were you not a part of us?"_

_Carved on it is a single name: Edwin Eilerts. That's all. Not even numbers to mark the year, not even titles or prayers to honor him. Just a name._

_"... Why did you not save yourself, sir?"_

_Just a name, and nothing more._

* * *

The blue of the military is suffocating. Edward wears it, anyways—shoulders lined with gold as he rises and falls through the ranks, almost as often as he changed his name. Almost as many funerals he attended, all killed in action along with himself. He was never memorable enough to be missed, he made sure of that, and so only those sharing his office came to his burial (at most).

Ed has died a couple times and he almost wants to frame the papers, if only for the irony. But he doesn't need more reminders. He has died a couple times and he feels that way. Military blue still chokes and suffocates him.

_Brigadier General Adler enters the South Library at exactly sixteen-hundred. Ed salutes the man, who stares at him up and down with mildly concealed surprise._

_"You're military?" Adler asks. "How old are you? What's your name?"_

_"Corporal Edmond Erkens, 18 years old, sir!" Still too young, perhaps, but at least it's not too far from the truth. It's easier to keep in the long run. He can tell that Adler doesn't fully believe him; he returned Ed's gaze with a calm, calculating look, as if searching for the slightest tell of a lie._

_But he finally relents. "At ease, Corporal." Adler pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. "Could you get me these documents?"_

_Ed carefully unfolds the paper in his hand. It's an extensive list written in chronological order, and skimming through it, Ed notices several familiar titles he had memorized from the Führer's orders. Dread settles in—Adler is clearly on the right track to Hell._

_(It frustrates Ed to no end, to see how little he could do despite all the knowledge he has.)_

_Now, Ed could lie; tell Adler the documents are not here, or Ed doesn't know about them. It could be the end of it, but the Brigadier General can also ask other librarians, who will ask for clearance from the higher-ups, who will tell the Führer, and then it would be a death sentence._

_Or Ed could break protocol and give him the files now, and hope that Adler would be smart enough to stop digging and keep his head down. But if they get caught, both Adler and himself will be dead._

_Well, it's not the worst deal he's had._

_"Of course. Just a moment," Ed scribbles down a note and sticks it onto his desk, explaining his whereabouts to whoever might be looking for him. Then, he grabs his crutches._

_"This way, sir."_

So, away from prying eyes, he dons the mourning red. Red like his mother's sash, red like his brother's eyes, red like _the water down the drain in the shower after every field mission—_

Edward dons the mourning red, but he does not grieve. Not anymore. Inside the walls of his tiny apartment, he spends his free time fixing himself. Stitching wounds, tinkering with his automail, even though he knows Winry would murder him if she finds out.

(He doesn't let her find out. He doesn't tell her anything, really, and hopes she thinks he only has a desk job in Central. Not fighting skirmishes in borders of Amestris.)

_Brigadier General Adler doesn't say a thing, though Ed can feel the man's eyes on him. He has heard a lot about Adler's empathetic nature, so of course it's not surprising that his missing left leg would catch Adler's attention._

_Ed really, really, really hate getting pitied. But right now it makes his job easier, and as much as he hates using his 'disability' for it, he doesn't have much choice. What else does he have, aside from alchemy and his blood?_

_So Ed tells him, "I lost it last year, in the Cretan borders," if only to strike a conversation. Technically, it's not a lie; his automail leg got damaged, and he had to detach it and leave it at his apartment, since he couldn't have it fixed. Sure, there are some automail shops in South City, but Ed wouldn't trust them with Winry's work. He usually goes to Rush Valley, but apparently automail maintenance doesn't count as sick leave. Not to Bradley and not for Ed. It's a whole load of bullshit. "Was stationed in the front lines in West. It got bad—something blew up, thought I died, woke up with 3 limbs left. Better than none, really."_

_"... Most would've retired, Corporal," Adler points out. He politely keeps his distance, while Ed retrieves the documents from the shelves._

_"I'm just glad the military lets me stay, sir. I kinda need the money."_

_To buy automail parts. Which is expensive as fuck, seriously, it's a surprise the Rockbells never billed him. That's just more reason to not call them._

_"Got a family waiting back home?"_

**_I don't. Do you?_ **

_"They're in the East, sir. It's just me in South City."_

Either he fixes himself, or he fixes his alchemy. Ed would read books upon books, journals upon journals, anything any scholars and military can possibly offer. He copies arrays into his notes and redraws them as his own, memorizing each lines like the genius they expected him to be. They expected him to be a lot of things, and he always delivers. He doesn't even need his alchemy—Edward grew up with lies and forgeries, it's easy to become whoever the Führer demands him to be. Names can be changed, looks can be altered, handwritings could be faked, and everything else could be learned. Or bought. Or both. It's easy to be anyone you want when you never existed in the first place, and he wonders if perhaps that's why Bradley chose him, of all people. An orphaned 12-years-old double amputee from a small town no one remembers.

_Ed rests his crutches against the shelf, standing on his right leg while rummaging through his pocket. He's balancing a stack of files in one hand and honestly? It's a miracle he hasn't dropped anything yet. "I'm sorry, Brigadier General. Could you please hold these for me?"_

_Adler nods, taking the documents, so Ed can hold his paper down and started checking off items from the list. Adler waited until Ed finishes, before asking, "Is this all of it, Corporal?"_

_"There's a few left in the other room, sir," Ed answers, "But I'm afraid you'll have to wait here. Or in the lobby." **You're not allowed to go there.**_

_"I see. I'll be here, then."_

_"Sir," Ed carefully says, now looking directly at the Brigadier General. He hopes Adler is as smart as he looks. "I think what you have is already enough. Are you sure you want to get the rest? I don't think you'll get the chance to read them all."_

_Adler pauses. He returns Ed's stern gaze with his own, and for a minute, Ed almost believes that he would take Ed's warning. Or at least think about it, give it time—_

_But no. Adler stares at him and Ed can read the message loud and clear—'You can't change my mind.' Stupid. It's gonna get him killed and Ed hated that, but there's nothing he could do._

_"Yes, Corporal, I'm sure," he tells Ed. "Thank you, but I think I'll retrieve them myself." He holds his hand out, "I'm stealing the keys from you. That's an order."_

_"Yes, sir." Reluctantly, Ed drops the set of keys into his palm. "Be careful, Brigadier General, sir."_

_"I will."_

Well, that's not who Ed is anymore. He was a Colonel in the West front lines, a Corporal in South Library now, and fuck knows who is he going to be next. Hell, he calls himself Edward, and that's not even his birth name!

But it doesn't matter. Somewhere in Amestrian military headquarters, there's always gonna be an Ed. Probably too young, as they all will notice, but he will be the textbook description of a soldier. It's either that or execution. Either that, or more death of his people.

And they can use him all they want, but no one will touch what belongs to him.

* * *

_The next time he sees Adler, it's through the scope of his riffle._

_Ed thinks of the man's eyes, warm and kind despite wearing the cursed blue. He thinks of Adler's words, of the genuine concerns in his voice, the same voice that will soon be twisted by Ed's own nightmares. He thinks of Adler's sharp wit, and the strict order to pretend that Ed never had a choice in this game._

_But Ed knows better. He's been playing it longer than Adler has._

_He still pulls the trigger._

**Author's Note:**

> I made OCs for flashback scenes and not even 10 minutes later, I got attached to one of them. If I write more, you might get to see more of Captain Ilsa Braun!
> 
> For now, I should go back to my main project. Thanks for reading and see you~
> 
> (I'm lonely, talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Chron_icles)!)


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